World War Z: Tip of the Spear
by Robert H. Gordon Jr
Summary: A young soldier is recruited by an enigmatic government agent to join a shadow war against a new and deadly enemy. This story follows the formation and initial operation of an Alpha Team.
1. Chapter 1

World War Z: Tip of the Spear

By Robert H. Gordon Jr.

The rustle of cloth and the quiet clink of metal announced the team of four soldiers preparing to enter an enemy-held structure. The soles of their boots tapping against the concrete beneath them, they moved into position. Their task was to clear the structure of hostiles while avoiding civilian casualties. Command had been plain with regard to their role on the battlefield. Their performance would have resounding ramifications.

The lead soldier stepped to the closed wooden door, carefully placing his shoulder against the wall at his right. His grip on his weapon increased; his heart rate spiking. He felt sweat soaking the uniform beneath his armor and registered it sliding down his nose before dripping to the floor. It was the third mission under his command and his leadership skills were in question.

A tap at his shoulder from his second-in-command, a calming gesture, eased his frayed nerves. His troops had his six. He closed his eyes, letting out a calming breath. There was nothing to it, but to do it. He held up a hand getting his team's attention and silently counted down from three.

At "one", he kicked in the door and rushed through, feeling his squad move with him. Passing through the door, he detected movement at his right. A rifle barked and the target dropped. Ahead a threat presented itself and he neutralized it. There was a flurry of motion behind him for a few more seconds and then his unit announced that the room was clear.

The soldier in the lead advanced to an open doorway, his team close behind, lining up in stacked formation. "Lead" covered the door with "Two" backing him up. "Three" scanned the room for any hostiles they might have missed and "Four" covered their entry point. It was so far, so good.

Lead risked a glance into the next room quickly sizing up the situation. The next space was a large square with two exits to the left, two ahead with one at an angle and a single exit to the right. With one more danger area than he had soldiers, someone was pulling twice the load. Using silent hand signals he gave his orders. After another three-count they rushed inside.

Lead went forward, covering the exit directly in front. Two had the angled entrance ahead to the right and the one at ninety degrees, shooting down a pair of targets. Three was also on double duty covering the exits at the left only having one target to deal with. Four stepped through last and immediately spun to cover their rear.

Checking the squad's position, Four registered motion. Head and body snapping around, weapon sliding into position; a gloved finger tensed on the trigger but the automated motion was stayed the instant the "threat" was identified as a small child. Tense, Four's body relaxed but only slightly. Hearing the others sounding off, Four knew they were only halfway there.

"Stairs," Lead called. "Four take point. Two move to cover. Three take rear." He stepped to the next entrance and took up a position to one side with Two while Four stood directly in front and Three covered their six. The aforementioned stairs descended into a dark room. Anything could be down there.

Digging into a pouch on his vest, Lead removed a flash-bang grenade and held it where Two could pull the pin. Spoon flipping away, Lead counted a few tense seconds letting the explosive "cook" before tossing it down the stairs. It banked off the wall of the stairwell, clattering deep into the room.

There was a chest-rattling whump with a blast of light, bright behind clenched eyelids. Four disappeared down the steps closely followed by Two. Lead waited anxiously, hearing gunfire. His eyes still on the stairs he gave the order to move and hustled down with Three close behind him.

Below, the room was a mess of ruined furniture and neutralized targets. Four and Two were covering the exits, simultaneously calling an all-clear as Lead and Three arrived. Waving his finger around in a circle, Lead continued past Four and Two toward the final doorway, the team rallying into their original positions.

The way was shut this time. There would be no knowing where the dangers could or would come from. Lead signed the letter "Z", a command specific to their team, meaning they would be running a "zone" defense; the group going together with each member covering forty-five degrees in front of them.

"One" was reached and Lead kicked the door open onto a small courtyard. The number of attack angles was infinite. A Humvee marked their extraction point. Then the shooting started. The instinct to find cover caused their formation to widen slightly. They corrected their course, staying together. Threats were located and quickly taken down. In less than ten seconds, they crossed the yard and made it to the Humvee. Moving around it in coordinated fashion, they climbed inside, slamming the doors.

"TIME!"

Spotlights kicked on revealing the area to be contained inside a large building. Men in military uniform, the proctors of the examination, appeared from behind protective shielding. The team emerged from the Humvee and got into formation. They snapped to attention before switching crisply to parade-rest. The lead proctor reviewed information on a clipboard, using a pen to make a note and flicking the board behind his back. He marched down the formation, eyeing the soldiers before sharply turning to the leader of the group.

"On the command of 'fall-out', you and your team will report to the rear for weapons check and debrief," the proctor said. He stepped back, "Squad ten-HUT, fall-out!"

Z

Above the training floor in a darkened office, two men stood at a window. One of them was the commanding officer of the troops in training; the other was not military though dressed in black combat fatigues. Only his posture, rigid with hands firmly clasped behind his back and short haircut gave hint at his former affiliation with the armed services. He watched the last group to move through the course disappear through a side door. The other man in the room said something.

"I'm sorry, what?"

The Army Captain sighed and shook his head. "I asked you what you thought. Christ, man will you ever change?"

The man in black laughed. "How long have you known me, Frank?"

"Too damned long," Frank Grimes replied. He sighed running a wrinkled hand over his aging face. "That was the last of our more exceptional soldiers. The rest are just high-speed."

The man in black chuckled. "They haven't mastered the 'low-drag' bit, eh?" He turned back to the window. "Get the course prepped. I'll handle the briefing."

"Excuse me?" Frank asked with a raised eyebrow. "Since when are you giving _me_ orders?"

"Pretty please with sugar on top, _sir_," the man said with a smile.

Z

It was a complete one-eighty for the team from the range. Gone were the steely gazes and icy nerves. What remained was a jovial levity, easy smiles and laughter. The trio of men and their single female compatriot shared inner observations and feelings experienced during the exercise. It was their fourth live-fire exercise. They had one more and they could, potentially, graduate. That is, if they had passed this one.

"So how do you think we did?" asked Three, Army Private E-2 Gary Smalls, breaking open his weapon, an M4 carbine and cleaning out the inside of the breech.

"We made good time," answered Four, Private First-Class Moira Wagner. Red hair, freckles and cherubic looks, she was studiously serviced her rifle. "We kept moving, all the targets were eliminated and there weren't any civilian casualties."

"Well the one in the basement was a little charred," said Two, Specialist Cory Jackson. "That flash-bang went off at his feet."

Moira shook her head, "There was no way to know who was where. He was nestled among the hostiles. We go down without the 'shock and awe' and we'd get cut to pieces. It's unfortunate but shit happens. She turned to the last member of their team. "Nate made the right call."

Lead, also known as Specialist Nathan George, looked up from the pieces of his weapon. "I know it was the right call, but if it keeps us from passing this course then it was wrong."

"If it was the right call, then they won't hold it against us," Jackson said. "We'll be fine." He looked up as the door opened, eyes registering brass, "Squad, ten-HUT!"

"As you were," Captain Grimes said as he and the man in black entered the room. He waited until the four soldiers settled back in their seats. "I just passed by your instructors. They've given you a 'go' on this last run. You all came within a cunt-hair of beating the course record." He quickly remembered the female soldier and held up a hand, "My apologies, Private."

"None needed sir," Moira said. "I'm pissed we came up short."

"Do you think you could do better?"

Moira looked to the newcomer. His chestnut features neutral, his dark eyes bored into hers. The look was not challenging, just observing. She met his gaze head-on. "Yes sir, we can."

"Permission to speak freely, sir," Jackson asked.

"Granted," the man replied.

"Who are you?"

"You may call me Cleric," the man said. "Since the next question is obvious, I want you to run the course again."

Smalls assembled his weapon, "Let's do it."

"Understand that this will have no bearing on your previous run," Captain Grimes explained. "Think of it as a bonus round."

"What do we get if we pass, sir?" Moira asked.

"Pass first," Cleric said, "and then we'll talk."

Nathan stirred, "Sit-rep?"

"Same as before," Cleric stated. "You will traverse the combat zone and eliminate every enemy target. Each one of you will be responsible for the termination of five hostiles. You will be given magazines with seven rounds of ammunition."

"What?" Smalls asked.

"Only headshots count," Cleric said.

"Sir," Jackson asked of the Captain.

"Game-face soldier," Captain Grimes replied.

"Failure to eliminate all the targets results in a 'no-go'," Cleric said. "Complete depletion of your ammunition results in a 'no-go'. What is the course record?"

"Two minutes, ten seconds," Captain Grimes said.

"What was their time?"

"Two minutes, fifteen seconds."

"A nanosecond longer than two minutes results in a 'no-go'," Cleric said. "You have five minutes to prep." He turned on his heel and stalked through the door.

Captain Grimes looked at the bewilderment on the faces of his troops. "You heard the man, get it in gear. Four-and-change until you're back on the line!"

Z

A short time later, Cleric was back in the observation room staring down at the course. The squad was below getting into position. Everything was set. Although a large clock would keep an official time, he had his own stopwatch. He had tested countless other squads and individuals. This was his last stop.

The door opened and Captain Grimes walked in, "What the hell is going on, _Cleric_? And don't give me any bullshit about 'classified'. Those are good soldiers you just mind-fucked down there."

"Cleric" born Marcus Chaplain kept his eyes on the course when he said, "I have my orders, same as you Frank."

"What's the point?" Grimes asked. "You really expect them to sprint through that course taking out twenty targets with a one-shot margin of error?"

"Those are the parameters." Below the team began the test. He started his clock.

"And just what is this about?" Grimes held up one of the paper targets. On it was a man in tattered clothing, his skin rotting and falling off in places. His arms were extended outward with hooked fingers, mouth gaping with broken jagged teeth.

Chaplain glanced at the target. "That's the enemy."

"That's not funny, Chaplain," Grimes said.

Chaplain looked Grimes in the eye, "Believe me, Frank, I agree with you." He looked back down and checked the team's progress against the clock.

"What is going on?" Grimes asked.

Chaplain stared at the course and held up his watch. "Come on, come on," he whispered to himself. The team reached the end of the course with under a second to spare. Chaplain let out a breath and sighed. He turned from the window tucking his watch back in his pocket and trading it for an envelope, "Grade 'em and give the go's these orders."

Grimes dropped the target, "You're really playing this game with me? We been battle buddies ten years. What is going on?"

Chaplain sniffed, rubbing at his chin. "You still have that cabin up the mountains?"

Grimes shrugged, "Yeah, so?"

Chaplain looked down thoughtfully. "At some point I may send you a message. If I do, pack your family, grab some weapons and provisions and go straight there. Tell no one and I mean _no one_. Drop everything. No obligation is more important."

"Why?"

Chaplain shook Grimes' hand and headed for the door. "It was good seeing you, Frank."

"Marcus," said Grimes, his frustration forgotten, "what's the message?"

Chaplain paused, "Zulu."


	2. Chapter 2

**Z**

"What you are about to see is some of the most classified information in the world."

The lights in the room dimmed. Thirty members of the military turned their attention to a large screen on the wall. A projector clicked to life and a movie began to play. The setting was a small village in what was likely the third world. A soldier was squaring off with a trio of men. There was no sound but they could see the soldier yelling at them. His language was different but the commands were obvious.

The trio advanced, reaching with hooked fingers; their mouths were open, lips peeled back from their teeth in feral snarls. The soldier backed away, obviously shaken. He fired his weapon into them at point-blank range. His shots found their mark, wounds blossoming on the other men's chests and abdomens. The camera caught the spray from the bullet's exits. Still they advanced. The soldier and camera operator retreated, the soldier continuing to fire to no effect.

The camera suddenly dropped to the ground, the image shaking violently. Viewed through broken optics, the soldier tried, with shaking hands, to reload his weapon. The trio was on him before he could. The troops watching the recording could almost hear his scream as he was dragged to the ground.

The silence of the room was broken by gasps and quiet grunts of revulsion as the three men mauled the struggling soldier with their mouths and hands. When the soldier's struggles slowed and finally stopped, the screen went black and the lights returned. The group turned to their presenter. Dressed in a suit, he was familiar to all of them.

"For those of you who are thinking that you've seen this movie on cable, let me provide assurances that you have not," Chaplain said. "This was recorded at a location in Eastern Europe three days ago. It was recovered yesterday by a team similar to the ones we are creating today." A hand was raised. "Yes?"

Its owner, a young Black man, stood, "Lance Corporal Christopher Malkin USMC, does this have anything to do with the African Rabies outbreak?"

Chaplain nodded, "To an extent, yes. Before I continue, let's be clear. I am aware that many of you have families back home. I also know that you all are under orders and have signed the requisite statements but I will reiterate that anything, _anything_ leaks from this place and the consequences will be dire." Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced the room. "What you saw was not rabies. What you saw was an, as yet, unknown contagion which renders the infected in a state similar to death. In this state they do two things and two things only. They kill and/or spread the infection." He pointed at the screen. "You've just witnessed the primary method of transmission."

The room was as silent as the grave; the tap-tap of his shoes as he walked, loud and resounding in the large space. "The disease responds to no known treatment and has a one hundred percent mortality rate." Another hand went up. "Yes?"

"Private First-Class Moira Wagner US Army, what about the Phalanx vaccine?" she said.

Chaplain smiled grimly, "The results are still pending but you will be inoculated as a precaution. All of you have been selected to become part of a covert taskforce. The strongest medical minds in the world have been unable to take this thing out therefore it falls to us to buy them more time. Codenamed "Alpha Teams" you will conduct small unit operations in infected areas. Today is in-processing day. You will be issued your equipment and assigned to your units. Once that is complete you will undergo the most rigorous training in your military careers. Upon completion of that, you will be deployed into the field."

Reaching the rear of the classroom, Chaplain executed a crisp about-face and started back toward the front. "I'm sure you've noticed that there is more than one branch of service in this room. I'm also sure you've noticed that there is more than one sex. Understand that we are in a crisis situation and there is no room for territorial and/or chauvinistic bullshit. Occupational specialties aside, everyone in this room is an expert marksman, survivalist, and fighter. You all have been to the 'wahoo schools' and, more importantly, you all have passed _my_ assessment. You are all equally vital to this mission. Make sure to treat each other that way. Also understand that while you are called 'alpha' you are not the first. We and the other major powers of this world have teams already in action in various theatres as we speak. You are _joining_ this campaign, not starting it." A hand went up. "Go."

"Specialist Nathan George US Army, are we still calling you 'Cleric'?"

Chaplain smiled, "Since you all now have the clearance, I am Marcus Chaplain, my rank is higher than yours, and I'm not an official member of any branch of service; not that it matters because neither are you. That's all I have. Let's get to work."

Z

"Hey," Moira said, taking a seat next to Nathan. They were outside the setting for their initial briefing, a warehouse within the perimeter of the CIA's training facility affectionately known as "The Farm". The other twenty eight troops of, what she was told was, the 34th Special Operations Command were milling around adjusting and inspecting their recently issued equipment.

"Hey yourself," Nathan said making room. He placed his duffel bag and rucksack behind him. Moira did the same, forming a lopsided square with them in the center. "Everything fit okay?"

Moira nodded, "Amazingly enough this shit comes in child sizes. It's like they knew."

The new uniforms were one-piece jumpsuits that were a dark amalgam of the digitized camouflage sported by the other branches of service but featuring no unit or rank insignia. The headgear was a matching beret with a black patch on the front. The remainder of their equipment was colored to match. Having to surrender their military identification, they wore metal identification tags featuring raised barcodes.

Moira and Nathan were the only members of their fire team to pass muster. The others either ran out of ammunition or did not eliminate all of their targets. After the evolution, MPs had come to their barracks to collect them. Without a word as to why, they had been placed in the back of a van and driven to an airfield where they were tossed in the back of a cargo plane and flown to The Farm.

"So where did you end up?" Nathan asked.

"Team Five," Moira said, "you?"

"Team One," Nathan replied. He saw the disappointment on her face and gave her knee a pat. "Don't worry, you'll be fine."

A worried look on her face, Moira gave shook her head. "You know that's not true," she replied. "Shooting that target was an _accident_," referring to the course and their evaluation. She had been on point when a threat presented itself; an infected version of the little girl from the first evolution. The pressure of the moment led her to open fire when her rational mind wanted her to hesitate.

"You still did it," Nathan said. "You recognized the danger and took action. Conscious or no it was the right call."

"I'm afraid that I might not be able to make that call in the field," Moira said.

Nathan shrugged, "Then you have a choice to make. Go and tell Chaplain what happened and wash out or you can square yourself away, learn from the experience and drive on. I would be comfortable going into battle with you but only if _you're_comfortable going into battle with you." He picked up a small paperback book over two hundred pages long. It had been the first item of issue. "Have you read any of this?"

Moira nodded.

"And you don't think you could pull the trigger?" Nathan asked. He flipped through the pages. "This is some sick and twisted shit. No matter what they look like, we are doing these people a favor."

Moira held up her hands, "You're right, you're right. I'd just feel better with you watching my back."

"Hey, likewise sister, but we gots our orders," Nathan said. He picked up a sleeve of elasticized nylon featuring hard padding on the front and back. "Does this go on my arm or my leg?"

"Your leg, over your boots," Moira said. She watched him pull on one and then the other.

Nathan strapped on a set of knee pads next. Then he pulled on a pair of gauntlets similar to the lower leg armors. After strapping on elbow pads, he picked up his flak jacket. It was lighter than any other body armor he had worn. Slipping it over his shoulders, he secured it and patted the front. He shrugged his shoulders a few times, confused.

"Not a lot of trauma plating in this stuff," he said.

"Our enemy doesn't use conventional weapons," a man said. Extending a hand, he was completely geared up; wearing leather gloves with armored knuckles and a bicycle-style Kevlar helmet. "Sergeant Dwayne Hicks _former_ USMC since we've joined the spook train, you are Specialist George, correct?"

Nathan accepted the handshake, "Yes, Sergeant."

Hicks nodded, "Good. I'm your Team Leader. The rest of the group is rallying inside. We've got a few bits of paperwork to finalize and then we ship out for training at fifteen hundred hours."

"Already?" asked Nathan, surprised.

Hicks shrugged, "Chaplain did say it was a crisis situation. Finish up here and be inside the meeting hall in ten."

"Yes Sergeant," Nathan replied. He watched his new commanding officer head away before turning back to Moira.

"No rest for the weary," she said with a half-smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Z**

_…And that's how it started. After rallying with my team it was whirlwind of hard training in facilities and on posts all over the country; the importance of our success constantly hammered into our heads. When it was over we had twenty-four hours to decompress before orders came down from whatever served as our command. Bye-bye Fort Bragg, hello first mission._

_You might wonder why I'm choosing to do this, write to you. Truth is, with all the secrecy you're the only one I can talk to. I know what Chaplain said but walking around with this inside me, not able to tell friends and family, it's a heavy load. Not that my friends or my family would believe me. Sometimes I have trouble believing it myself. Anyway, our first mission took us across the world. We piggy-backed with a unit of grunts heading for the Ukraine/Russian border, once there we took a right-step from the ranks and hopped a bird heading nowhere…_

The ride was bumpy, the Blackhawk fighting turbulent winds while descending to the proper altitude. The pilot worked with icy cool as the craft threatened continuously to send them crashing to the ground. The clouds around them disappeared revealing a sprawling landscape that would feature green rolling hills dotted with crags of dark rock and shiny rivers of obsidian water were it not for the early hour. The insertion point was five miles out. Without looking, the co-pilot flicked a switch.

Inside the hold, a yellow light blinked into existence. A crewman sitting beneath it took notice and held up five fingers, indicating the number of minutes before deployment. Moving together he and his cohorts went to the sides of the craft. Two members of the Blackhawk's crew opened the side doors before taking up assault rifles and pulling on night-vision goggles. Each of the four members of the 34th's Team One or 1-34 clipped the end of a length of rope onto a support cleat on the chopper's floor.

The Blackhawk cleared a copse of trees, settling over an open field. Another few seconds and a green light flashed in the hold. Team One let their lines fall from the chopper before standing and clipping themselves to their individual ropes. When the last man was secured, they rappelled down, the two members of the Blackhawk crew covering their descent. Once off-rope, they signaled the flight crew and the bird lifted away.

Z

Nathan lay prone in the cold grass of his first foreign country. They were in Eastern Europe somewhere in the middle of the borders making up Hungary, Romania, and Ukraine. He was not sure where exactly. The briefing had been purposely vague. Political climates were stormy at present and their mission had not been officially sanctioned.

1-34 was to collect a scientist working at a secret facility in a nearby village. The surrounding area had been overrun by the disease and the facility had ceased communicating with the outside world. Satellite images of the surrounding area showed that the number of infected was steadily growing. The United Nations was certain that their asset had made some sort of progress concerning the virus and deemed his work vital. They had been given a twenty-four hour window to accomplish their mission. The clock had started the second their boots hit the dirt.

Keeping to his training, Nathan kept his eyes and ears open for any sign that their incursion had been noticed by any infected. His training; Chaplain had not been lying. He still had aches and pains from the previous six weeks. They had qualified in almost every conceivable environment in locations all over the country and always in secret. It was very isolating. Still, the time served to get him better acquainted with his new team.

His team leader, Hicks, was from a small town in the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. He was a blond-haired, blue-eyed all-American hillbilly who loved pickup trucks and country music. The former Marine was a blunt no-nonsense commander who gave everyone equal parts respect and loyalty which was theirs to lose. When asked about the coincidence of his name with the character from the famous sci-fi blockbuster, he would just shrug it off, "That guy was badass and so am I."

Second-in-command was a Corporal and a former soldier from Fort Benning by the name of Kelly. He was standard infantry who had graduated from the Army Rangers and that was after Sniper School. The green-eyed ginger was wiry and quick of body and mind with a knack for camouflage and land navigation; making him perfect for reconnaissance.

Next was an Airman-First Class, plucked from an experimental platoon at Para-Rescue School. Melina Cruz was the smallest of the group but she was also the smartest. Her body was like Kelly's, lean and honed razor sharp. Cruz had been fresh out of high school before aiming high for Uncle Sam. Nineteen years old, she was the youngest of the unit, but hers was the greatest responsibility as the team medic. She shouldered that burden well, maintaining an almost Zen-like calm at all times. There were no lines of worry on her stern features, no strain at the corners of her hazel eyes. Everything was everything to her.

And then there was Nathan himself. The son of a mechanic he had joined the Army's cadre of Combat Engineers, choosing to expand on his skill-set by taking on and completing Sapper School. Aside from his military specialty he was a whiz with anything on four wheels. He had youthful chiseled features with dark brown hair, and eyes and a capable build.

The team had bonded during their six weeks of hell, each member learning to fill their role while earning the trust to fill it. Nathan risked a glance at his visible comrades. They might not be his group from Sapper School, but they would do. Movement at the tree-line in the distance caught his eye. His grip tensed on his rifle but his night-vision scope revealed the threat to be a highly dangerous bunny.

An hour later, the sun rose and Hicks gave the order for the unit to move. They trotted from the field into the trees where they moved silently for a mile and a half before assembling inside a small draw. Weapons trained in all directions, Kelly produced his operations map and got their bearings.

"So where are we?" Hicks asked.

"We are here," Kelly said, indicating their position on the map. "Our objective is here."

"Three klicks east," Hicks concluded. "SAT images have this whole area crawling with infected."

"And we're smack in the middle," Kelly said with a nod.

"Right," Hicks said, glancing around. "You're on point no further than fifty meters, no noise. Nate will take the rear."

Z

The team moved at a fast but measured pace, avoiding roads and populated areas. Residents fleeing toward the more densely populated urban centers could be seen wandering the few paved thoroughfares. They were an unbroken line of petrified humanity; none of them with any idea of how real the danger was or even what it was. Seeing a specialized military unit from America would do no good. Best-case, they would end up in the custody of local law enforcement. Worst-case, the skittish refugees would attempt to kill them and take their gear.

It was just after noon when they reached the outskirts of their objective, a village whose name none of the team could spell but would translate to "little paradise". The combination of quaint old-world architecture and towering mountains in the distance made the place look like something off a postcard. Intel had the population somewhere near seven hundred. Taking up concealed positions in a field dotted with stacks of hay, they observed the cozy hamlet for any sign of life. The roads leading into the town were lined with makeshift signs warning people to steer clear of the place. There was no pedestrian traffic on the streets. What homes they could see had boarded up windows and doors.

"What do you think Sarge?" Kelly asked.

Hicks stared through his binoculars for a few more moments. "Let's get a bird's eye view."

Kelly and Nathan moved off to one side. From inside Kelly's rucksack they removed and assembled pieces of a miniature helicopter drone. After checking the remote-controlled servos, Kelly primed the craft's small engine and launched it into the air. Circling a nearby field to gain altitude, he flew it toward the village.

Sitting on the ground, Kelly activated a forward-mounted camera displayed on his controller. "Okay," he said, "starting the first pass."

Hicks moved behind him so he could watch the small screen. He saw the slate rooftops of the buildings and the cobblestone streets. The village was panning out to be as empty as it seemed as there was nothing in the way of vehicle or pedestrian traffic. Signs of animal life were nil.

"All right, sweep out to the west and then come back around." Hicks crouched, watching as the view changed. On the way back the craft passed over a barn and a pasture. There was a horse in the field lying on its side surrounded by people; the grass around it, stained brown. Moving from the field, the plane's camera captured more people approaching the pasture.

"Something about that don't seem right," Kelly said.

"Switch to thermal," Hicks said.

It being early morning, the ground had not yet been warmed by the sun. The body of the horse glowed brightly, giving off its last vestiges of heat. The people in the field vanished, their presence revealed only by their movement. Kelly continued his sweep revealing more wandering citizens…citizens whose body temperatures mirrored their surroundings.

"Did you get a count?" Hicks asked.

"There's about fifty," Kelly said.

"The horse is keeping them around," Cruz said. "Otherwise they would've moved off like the others."

"Agreed," Hicks said. "We move into the village opposite their position. Stealth is the name of the game. We can't have even one of them giving us away." He turned back to the screen. "Pass over the facility entrance."

Still on thermal, the camera's eye spotted a massive plot of land far warmer than the surrounding terrain. A lone house stood at the center with four other homes on the outskirts of the warm patch of dirt. Despite the lack of life, the chimneys of the houses still vented heated air. The helicopter hovered over one of them.

"This one's closest to us," Kelly said. He spiraled the aircraft outward from there. "I see maybe ten or twelve contacts between us and it." He banked toward their position. "There's a rise three hundred yards out that has sufficient cover. I can thin the herd a bit from there."

Hicks nodded. "Nate will spot you. Cruz and I will stage at the village perimeter and move on your go."

_…I remember running with Kelly and thinking about the people in the village. What had gone through their minds when the virus reached them? Had they known it was coming? Did most manage to escape and these were the unlucky ones? Did the local government attempt to render aid or were the people left to fend for themselves? More than anything I wondered what our government would do if this was a hamlet in the middle of nowhere U.S.A._

_Kelly was not one for thoughts like that. His mind never strayed too far from the here and now. Watching him prepare his nest, he chose the best cover with the best view. He drew his M24 from its case like a samurai. I thought, "Here is a man that considers his work a craft more than a profession"…_

Kelly sighted down his scope finding Hicks and Cruz as they took cover behind a low stone wall. Thirty yards ahead of them, four of Kelly's ten infected shambled around going nowhere. The Ranger put a hand to his throat mike. "Point, this is Kelly, COM check."

"Loud and clear, Kelly," Hicks replied, "waiting for your go."

"Copy," Kelly murmured, shifting his aim downrange; thumb disengaging the safety. He took a deep breath, centering his crosshairs on the head one of the infected closest to Hicks and Cruz. It was a woman once; young and probably beautiful. His exhalation was quiet. His finger squeezed. The rifle's bark was reduced to a whine. The woman's cursed existence ended in a spray of blood and brain-matter. Kelly let fly two more times before reaching back to his throat. "Go!"

Hicks and Cruz vaulted the wall taking off in tight staggered formation. Their movements were smooth and mechanical, muscle-memory taking over. Among the buildings, the stench of rotting flesh air became worse with even the slightest breeze. They encountered a trio of infected loitering in the streets. Their shots were quiet, metallic whispers punctuated by the heavy thud of bodies striking the cobblestones; their swift hushed assault going unnoticed by the remaining infected. Reaching the house, they took up defensive positions at the entrance, watching their surroundings for more targets.

"We're set. Move up and rally at the facility entrance," Hicks ordered.

In the void left by the recent activity, the atmosphere felt charged. Their weapons constantly sweeping, they expected the doors of the nearby homes to open for the populace, infected and moaning, to come for them. What they got was Kelly and Nathan trotting up to meet them.

"How many did you take?" Kelly asked.

"We got six or so," Cruz replied.

Kelly gestured with his chin. "Nate popped one in the field on the way down. Bastard came up outta the tall grass. Our Sapper's got good reflexes."

Hicks jerked a thumb behind him. "Before we crown him queen of battle, let's see if he can get us in this door."

Nathan moved forward, the others covering his sides and rear. Going into his butt pack he removed a small device similar to a computer tablet. Before him, the door looked like a regular rickety wooden portal. A rap with a knuckle would reveal it to be made of heavily-armored steel. The knob was a fingerprint reader that would allow access to those with proper clearance.

Attaching the tablet to the door via a hidden USB port in the lock, Nathan accessed the records of their asset applying images of his prints. There was a beep and the door slid aside with a hiss of air. Nathan stuffed the tablet back into his pack, snatching up his rifle. Activating a flashlight mounted under the barrel he stepped inside. The rest of the group drained in after him, the door closing after Kelly stepped through.

Inside, the home consisted of three rooms. There was a main living space, a small kitchen to the left and an even smaller bedroom to the right which held two bunks and an empty weapons rack on one of the walls. There were a few loose rounds on the floor but no other signs of life.

"Okay, now what?" Cruz asked.

There was another hiss and the entire fireplace and chimney slid to one side revealing an elevator car. The four soldiers raised their weapons, the sudden display startling them. The inside was clean and anachronistically modern.

"That was supposed to be called from here, Sarge," Nathan said.

Cruz threw a glance around the room. "I guess they can see us."

Hicks stepped into the car. "Let's go folks."

The group filed in after him, awkwardly stowing their weapons in the small space.

"Is this weirding anyone else out?" Kelly asked.

"All we've been through and _this_ is weirding you out?" Cruz asked as the doors closed.

_…Kelly was right. One minute we're in a village that had just graduated from the dark ages and the next we're in a state-of-the-art elevator, sent by persons unknown, heading underground. All things aside it was a little weird._

_The weirdness continued when we reached bottom. The doors opened onto a brightly-lit hallway. The place looked and smelled like a hospital. There was no welcome wagon, no security detail; it was just as quiet as up top. Passing rooms full of equipment commonly found in the fifty shades portion of 'Mad Scientist Weekly' was strange enough. What was even more disturbing was the lack of…anything. There were no clues as to what happened. It seemed like everybody had just up and left but then who opened the door? Then we found the body…_

Cruz knelt next to the dead man. He was seated against a wall wearing blood-soaked shirtsleeves and slacks. The right side of his head was smashed in. Next to him was a broken microscope.

"It's not our guy," Cruz said. "Whether or not he was infected, I don't know."

"I think the method of dispatch makes it obvious," Kelly said.

"What's the plan, Sarge?" Nathan asked.

Hicks looked down the hallway. "Somebody sent that elevator. We'll find them and get a sit-rep on our target. If he's intact, we nab him. If he's compromised, we get copies of his work and bug out."

Nathan moved down the hallway and found a floor plan mounted on the wall. He pointed. "The control room is probably here in the middle of the complex."

Hicks nodded. "Then that's where we're going. Lead the way."

The squad followed Nathan, turning left twice and traveling down a flight of stairs reminding Nathan of the steps on the course where Chaplain had found him. Five minutes later they came to a secured door marked in Cyrillic. Nathan used his tablet to defeat the lock, stepping aside as Cruz and Kelly went through first. Standing together, they trained their weapons on the head of a man sitting at a large console beneath a bank of screens. He was still for a few agonizing seconds before slowly raising his hands.

"I can assure you those weapons are not yet necessary," he said in a heavy Slavic accent.

"Redwood," Hicks said; a challenge phrase.

"Blackbird," the man replied. He chuckled, "Though it seems pointless now." He slowly turned his chair around to face them. He was in his fifties with pale skin, shiny black hair, angular features and black eyes that seemed to glitter behind his spectacles. "I am Doctor Anton Petrovich."

Hicks lowered his weapon along with the others, "Time to go, Doctor."

"American," Petrovich said. "I see they've changed the uniform since you were last here."

"When was that?" asked Kelly.

Petrovich regarded him with a stare that was almost reptilian. "It was about eighteen months ago."

"What happened here?" Nathan asked.

Petrovich leaned forward, hands on his knees. "It is a funny thing to be dealing with so great a threat but be unable to warn those around you. A wave of infected souls came from Koviarsh, a village not far from here. They numbered only twenty but they quickly overwhelmed the local police. Our security forces reacted humanely and tried to help. They believed us to be safe here and wanted to do what was right."

"What happened to them?"Hicks asked.

"The best laid plans oft go awry," replied Petrovich.

"The work you're doing here is important, Doctor," Cruz said. "None of them thought to stick around?"

Petrovich smiled grimly. "This place is damned. You can see it. You can _feel_ it." He turned and pressed a few keys on the console. The largest screen behind his head flickered to life revealing a view inside the facility's infirmary. There, a dozen people wandered around the space; the walls and floor awash with blood.

Kelly stepped back. "Jesus H. Christ."

Petrovich nodded. "Indeed. One of our own was infected by a test subject and declined to mention it. It took all of us to subdue him. We…are not soldiers." He raised the right sleeve of his lab coat revealing a heavily stained bandage. "I have received every transmission sent by the United Nations. I neglected to answer because I knew they would send you. I had to hope that you would arrive before I would be unable to finish my work." He reached into his pocket producing a thumb drive. "Here is everything I was able to learn."

Nathan stepped forward and took the drive. "You want us to…"

Petrovich shook his head. "The facility will take care of that."

Hicks frowned, "How?"

"This place was built to contain the worst plagues in the history of mankind," Petrovich said. "There is a protocol for containment in the event of catastrophe. When you reach the surface, I will activate it."

_…We left him there, in the bowels of the Earth. Away from the village, we felt it as Hicks called for EVAC; a low rumble shaking the ground. Flames shot into the air as the homes built atop the facility were destroyed in massive explosions so hot they ignited everything around them. I remember seeing infected completely ablaze; walking around until the flames caused them to collapse like puppets with their strings cut._

_In the end, everything in that place was reduced to ash. On the ride back we sat in silence. The chopper's crew tried to stick us for information. Even if we weren't under orders, we weren't in the mood for chatter._

_I stared out the window, Petrovich's last words replaying in my mind…_

_"You have my sympathy. This plague is more than an epidemic; it is an extinction-level event. It is no coincidence that you were sent instead of men of science. Science had its chance. Now it is your turn. I pray you are up to the task because, make no mistake, mankind is at war; and, God have mercy, you are_losing_."_

**The**

**End**


End file.
